The Second In Command
by Perry-Dice
Summary: Sam, Dean, and Castiel realize they if they've all been with each other separately, why not be together? Wincestiel threesome. Companion/continuation to "There's A First Time for Everything".


They all remember it, searching their memories while lying entangled in a too small motel bed around four in the morning, as they try to decide whether to flee and never look back or plunge ahead into the madness of their lives.

Sam was curled to the side, pretending to sleep, but Castiel could feel him shaking softly with fear as he himself felt his vessel begin to sweat uncomfortably, pulling away from Dean who stared dead-eyed at a crack in the ceiling and felt his heart accelerate faster and faster.

Lying there in the dark they all remembered it, and it offered some comfort.

Sam has been with Castiel before.

Castiel has been with Dean before.

Dean has been with Sam before.

Sam accidentally fell into a relationship with Castiel a few weeks after the angel had given up his search for God, and came stumbling into their motel room, drunk and miserable. At first, Sam thought of calling Dean, Dean who would understand Cas, who would comfort him with that clipped speech and sympathetic glance. But the gleam of anger in Castiel's hawk-like gaze made Sam pause and reevaluate.

Sam, taking some time off from the usual apocalypse prevention gig, took the time to brew a pot of coffee.

"So I guess you're pretty pissed." He began briskly, fishing out the complementary mugs. Castiel looked up from where he had slumped on the couch.

"No. Just tired." The angel rumbled in a tone that reminded Sam so strongly of Dean it physically hurt him. He griped the counter hard and reminded himself that he could do this. After watching Dean destroy himself over and over because of John, he could save Castiel. He had to save someone.

"Yeah. I understand." Sam said noncommittally. He watched Castiel tense out of the corner of his eye, arms shifting under the folds of his trench coat.

"You understand nothing." Castiel spat. Sam turned around, eyebrows drawn and mouth a firm line.

"Right. Of course. Sorry to associate myself with you. After all, I'm just the boy with the demon blood. How could I imagine the feeling of abandoning your entire family because you thought there was a better way? How could I know how it feels to be abandoned by a father after rebelling?" Sam paced across the room, gesturing sarcastically. Castiel seemed stunned into silence for a moment, so Sam poured him a mug of coffee and slammed it down on the low table in front of the angel.

"I don't want to understand you." Castiel murmured quietly after a minute. Sam sank down next to him on the couch. "I want to understand Dean. I want to be the good son. I don't want to mirror-"

"Lucifer." Sam sneered bitterly. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to hide his welling eyes.

"I just want to be good." Castiel whispered. Sam raised his eyes, feeling a sort of crashing sensation in his chest.

"Don't we all?" Sam barely managed to choke out. Castiel took his hand, long fingers massaging small circles on his palm. Sam suddenly became aware of every inch of his body, its proximity to the angel's.

Sitting so close on the couch, Sam felt very different than if he were sitting next to any regular man. Castiel walked the walk and sometimes talked the talk, but Sam occasionally remembered that he was not a being of this world. It was like some imperceptible electrical current that did no more than raise the hair on his arms. Holding his hand was like the touch of any other calloused palm, yet there was something so incredible, so ancient, so powerful, and so big beyond it. A creature with no gender, no humanity, no warm body.

Castiel took a sip of coffee and spit it out all over both of them with a horrified face. Sam was torn between yelling in pain at the scalding liquid and roaring with laughter. He made a sound somewhere in between and Castiel made a motion somewhere between awkward comforting and agonized flailing. The resulting inertia sent them on a perfect collision course and they slid sideways, Castiel's hatchet-like nose ramming into Sam's cheekbone.

Somehow as they flailed around, hurting and laughing and drenched, their lips met and stayed. Sam didn't know if he did it or Castiel did, but he could feel the angel's fingers twining through his hair and his own hands seizing fistfuls of the trench coat and pulling closer and closer.

A car backfired outside and Sam abruptly remembered the apocalypse and Dean, Dean who he has suspected for some time would rather be doing this with Castiel and oh god what was he doing? He scrambled backwards, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and jabbering something ridiculous about changing clothes and paper towels.

After shutting himself in the bathroom for a few minutes, Sam took one last look in the mirror. Guilty eyes were reflected back at him.

Sam didn't deserve the angel. So why had he tried? He just wanted to be good.

Dean spontaneously fell in love with Castiel on a rainy late afternoon nearly a year before. He and Sam were tramping back to the car after a hunt, sore and stiff from being repeatedly slammed against a wall by an extremely disgruntled ghoul. Sam limped over to the trunk, fumbling for gauze. Dean dug out his keys while attempting to stem the flow of blood from the gash he was sporting down his cheek.

Dean dropped the keys and cursed creatively when Castiel stepped casually out of nowhere. Startled, Dean scrambled to his feet.

Castiel looked faintly amused, staring up into the rain. Water ran down his nose, plastering his dark hair against his scalp. The tan of the trench coat darkened and to Dean's dismay, his white shirt clung tantalizingly to his chest.

The angel seemed about to speak, probably with some new nonsense about seals or rules, but he stopped, keen blue eyes focused on Dean's torn cheek. Without a word, Castiel reached out a hand and cupped Dean's chin.

Blinking rain out of his eyelashes, Dean stared into Castiel's eyes and felt his breathing slow. He didn't try to shy away from the hand and didn't flinch when Castiel ran a finger along the side of his face. He leaned forward and Dean thought for a moment of closing the distance between them.

For the first time since his stint in hell, Dean felt that he was in the right place. Sam close behind him, his hand still resting on the impala, soft rain washing the blood from his face, and Castiel's finger knitting him back together again. He sighed and then Castiel pulled his hand away, satisfied with his healing.

Dean didn't think of that moment often. Only occasionally would he see it in his dreams, a cool balm after another nightmare. Rain, hands, car, and home.

However, when he and Castiel foolhardily took on the archangel Rafael with nothing but a jar of oil, Dean remembered. After Castiel's disastrous last night on earth party, Dean had been feeling more charitable towards the angel. He seemed less like a terrifying otherworldly being completely unconnected to Dean's world, and more like a socially awkward highschooler.

Castiel was a contrast. Occasionally Dean found him utterly inscrutable and then the next moment they would understand one another as deeply as if they were family. And nothing embodied that contrast more than Castiel's exhilaratingly rash taunt to the archangel followed by an electrifying sprint through the rain.

"Over here!" Dean called, leaping over a puddle as they sprinted towards the impala. The storm whirled around them as they careened away from the trapped Rafael. Dean laughed as the wind tore at his clothing and the rain slid down his face like tears. He looked to his side and saw the deathly serious set of Castiel's mouth coupled with the wild joy of his eyes. As they both reached the car, Dean remembered.

Rain, hands, car. And a feeling he couldn't put his finger on.

Dean wrenched open the door and they both slid into the front seat. Breathing hard, Dean sat up and tried to shake some of the water off of him. The leather seat squeaked underneath them as they attempted to shift into comfortable positions.

On impulse, Dean mustered his courage and reached out a hand. He cupped Castiel's chin gently and turned the angel's face towards him. Blood pounding in his ears, Dean tried desperate to move or speak or do something more than stare. But all he could manage was a soft run of his finger down Castiel's rough cheek.

The engine started and the car pulled away, back towards the highway. Headlights painted a delicate lattice of shadow across their faces, like soft fingers. The hiss of rain under the tires and the subliminal crackling of the radio created a peaceful lull of background noise. Their clothing began to dry and water stopped dripping from their faces and hair. The familiar rattle of legos began when Dean flicked on the air.

When Castiel departed and Dean remembered how far he was from Sam, and how wrong things were, he finally put his finger on the feeling. Rain, hands, car, home. Everything is okay. You are okay.

Sam and Dean had their first inkling of non-brotherly affection years before they could imagine angels and Lucifer and apocalypses. It all began when Dean, secretly riffling through Sam's bags to find his stolen library books, found the Stanford acceptance letter stuck between the pages of _On the Road. _

For a full minute, Dean just sank down onto the bed, unsure if he was going to be sick. It felt like something was exploding inside of him, something so great and terrible that his mind simply could not process. Still, he managed to fumble the letter back into the book and pack Sam's bag back into some semblance of order.

When Sam slouched back into the motel, the sullen expression he'd been wearing more and more over the past few months looking more sour than usual, he gave no indication of having noticed. And even worse, he made no attempt to tell Dean about the letter, even when Dean gave him some pretty heavy-handed introductions to the topic.

Watching Sam was a major part of Dean's daily tasks, but he began to look more closely. It wasn't hard to read more into the constant fights with John, the long private phone calls, or the religiously deleted web history. Dean knew Sam. He knew Sam better than he knew himself.

And Sam was getting ready to run.

August was drawing to a close with a slow burning intensity. Dean took down a coven of witches outside of Tucson. Sam started hiding FAFSA forms under his mattress.

John was making plans too. With both boys done with high school, he was prepared to start driving them hard on full time hunting duty.

As the last few weeks of August oozed along, Dean grew nearly distracted with repressed concern. What if Sam wasn't going after all? What if John had stopped him already? Where else could he go? Would he leave for Stanford or leave forever?

Dean froze up hunting a jotun in Minnesota and nearly got himself killed. The constant sense of dread and doom caught up with him standing on an icy ridge with the creature barreling towards him and only a well-timed slip kept him from a bloody end. Tramping back to the car, soaking and freezing, Dean wished that he were at least glad to be alive. As his icy fingers fumbled with the keys, Dean felt tears prickling behind his eyes and blinked them violently away. He started the car and he smiled, an art he'd learned from childhood, he just smiled until he felt nothing. Nothing was good. Nothing was happy. Just cold. Too cold for August.

He got back early from that hunt and John was still searching the other half of the ridge for signs of the monsters. As Dean shook melting snow from his boots outside of the motel room, he glimpsed Sam inside, stuffing his bags with clothing and free motel soap. The knot in his chest felt like it was plummeting to his gut. He shoved the door open and Sam, startled and guilty, spun around to face him, a lie dying on his lips when he saw Dean's face.

"Dean I-" Sam's explanation died in his throat. Dean swallowed the lump in his, smile still fixed on his lips.

"Why do you gotta leave Sammy?" Dean managed pitifully. Sam squeezed his eyes shut and took a shuddering breath.

"You know."

"Yeah." Dean thought for a minute, letting his brother off the hook. "I know."

"I knew it would be hard with dad, but you-" Sam choked and then knitted his brows, frustration and anger overcoming sadness. Dean wanted to ask him to stay, wanted to beg him to just stay for him, but he knew he didn't deserve that, he had no right to ask that.

Then they both rushed forward and Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's neck and pressed his face into the side of his head so hard Dean felt like his bones would crack. Dean nearly knocked the air out of his lungs as he clung to Sam's jacket like he could physically prevent him from leaving if he just held on. Desperately, they hung on, as if trying to merge into one being. Dean could feel the pounding of Sam's heart, the heat of Sam's breath, the occasionally hitch of a held back sob.

Breathlessly, Dean moved his hands down Sam's back, warmth finally spreading through him. Sam pressed forwards and curled a hand in Dean's hair. Then, entirely without reason Sam moved against him and there was an off-kilter moment of simple friction. The embrace went past brotherly and Dean, to his horror, felt himself growing hard. He shifted a little and Sam gasped softly, his own problem apparent as well. Both of them moved together and the space between them disappeared. Dean unintentionally sighed and the sound jolted them back to sanity.

They both leaped back from each other, flabbergasted and furious with their traitorous bodies.

"Right. Well. I guess you won't get homesick." Dean gave an unhinged too-loud laugh. "We'll just have to see what dad says." He shouted over his shoulder as he fled the motel room, unable to even look behind him. He needed to get out into the cold, clear his head, stop being such a sick sick perverted waste of space.

Panicked, Dean staggered into a bar, half way to a full fledged anxiety attack, and bought a sloppy blow-job from a skinny girl loitering out by the dumpsters. Pressed against the cold metal, Dean felt a hundred years old.

When Sam finally left, shouting for hours and then walking away into the night, Dean followed him into the forest and shouted for hours.

"You'll call right? We'll still see each other? You can't just disappear!"

Sam sends a text message to say that he got there then disconnects the number and Dean dreams of his brother's face for the next four years.

Lying there in the dark they all remembered, sifting through their memories in endless circles, trying to reconcile their situation. Sam feels like he's suffocating, he wants to run, to leave again without a word and start fresh. Castiel wants to disappear, to go home and pretend he never felt, never existed.

And Dean, Dean takes command.

"Don't leave." He whispers in the dark, his mantra, his ancient plea. "Don't leave."

This time, Sam and Castiel listen. They stay.

Dean rolls over and straddles Castiel. He presses a finger to the angel's lips then runs his hand down Castiel's cheek. But this time, he leans in and presses their lips together. After a long slow kiss, Dean moves off of Castiel and onto Sam. He curls against his brother's side, presses his face into Sam's hair, and just breathes for a moment. Sam's hands run down his back, a hint of fingernails and desperate pressure.

Then Dean kneels at the foot of the bed, finally looking sure of himself.

"On top of him." He breathes huskily, a smirk accompanying the order. Sam obeys and Castiel twines limbs around him. They writhe against one another, lost in flesh and heat. Castiel wrestles Sam's shirt of and Sam strips the angel of his pants, relieving his cock from its confines. As Sam lowers his head, he feels Dean's hands on his hips, gently pulling down Sam's boxers as well.

Sam takes Castiel into his mouth and the angel gasps. Sam gives a little shuddering groan as Dean's hand curls around his cock and begins to move.

They don't hold out very long. Both Sam and Castiel have spent mostly of the night longing for it, anticipating each other. As Sam attempts to wipe Castiel's stomach clean, he hears Dean murmur again.

"You won't leave."

"No." Sam and Castiel speak in unison. Then they both turn to Dean, still sitting fully clothed on the bed. Castiel makes a face more lecherous than either of them could have imagined. Both of them pounce on Dean who makes a sound between a yelp and a laugh. Castiel rips off his pants while Sam pins him down with a kiss.

Dean holds on to dignity for a few seconds, and then the term 'screamer' is redefined for all of them.

When they finish, Dean looks absolutely wrecked, but he manages to gasp,

"Well I guess I see the value of teamwork now."


End file.
